[This is bad. This is a bad idea. Fuck. But Nate gets up and heads out of his room.]
She doesn't know anything, Matt. She's probably just on about you being a drunk prick lately. You're hurting more than just me. You know she's protective of me. Just- fuck sit down and I'll get you some water. Please.
Oh don't give me those big sad fucking eyes Nathan. Poor you, right? Boo fucking hoo. Don't you dare. [ Because frankly, he's terrified what will happen if he does. ]
Oh. [He's not sure how to take that. Still standing with his hand on Matt's arm, Nate glances down the hall. When he turns back, he takes a small step forward, meaning their just that much closer- not that Nate really notices.]
Can we just... [He's not sure what he wants. He just wants things to feel normal between them.]
[ Can they just what? Matt looks over him, and it's fucking terrifying because he knows how he feels. It's a fear that consumes him, like a fire raging that he doesn't know how to deal with. ]
[ Fuck but he wants to kiss him again, and that has to be the most terrifying thing of all. He wants him. He wants this. But he can't have it. He shouldn't have it. It's wrong, it's bad, it's everything he shouldn't be.
He could calm down, and he almost does, Nate like a calm breeze over his blazing fire. There's a shift in him, a relax of his shoulders, if only for a second. But then what next? What happens next?
Maybe it's the uncertainty, maybe it's the heat in his stomach, the whisky and the fear all muddled up into one. Maybe it's who he is, or who he was always terrified of being, but something snaps.
Something snaps and there's a mist over his eyes, a cloud he simply can't see past. His hand lift and he grabs at Nate's arm, ripping him off him and shoving him back. ]
Get the fuck off me. I don't want you anywhere near me.
[ He isn't thinking. Nothing about this has him thinking. He's fucking terrified. Completely fucking terrified, and that's all he can see. Everything, like he's blind and sick and needs to run and has nowhere to go.
Pushing him off isn't enough, and he's not thinking now. Not at all, because the hand he has at his side, balled into a fist, comes ploughing towards Nate's face, making contact with him and punching him hard enough to knock him from his where he stands. ]
[ He doesn't respond to him, because doing that might involve thinking, and were he to think then he wouldn't be doing this at all. He couldn't possibly.
Doing now what his dad did all those years. Use his fists.
But that rage burns there, like a fire not able to be put out, Nate speaking only stoking the flames. His fist lifts again, and hits again to Nate's face, across his jaw, hard and feeling it crack under his touch. Once, and then again, making contact with his stomach. ]
[He doubles over as a blow strikes his torso, coughing and crying out in pain. He tries to ask for Matt to stop but finds the words hard to say, blood filling his mouth, his jaw swelling rapidly.]
[ He doesn't know how to stop himself. Part of him can see what he's doing, part of him screaming to stop. But he can't, or at least he doesn't.
There's another blow to his face, and another to his shoulder, one to his chest, and again and again until Nate is on the ground and it's not his fist that makes contact, but his foot, hard against his stomach. ]
[Any hope for speech is gone bye now. He manages a few weak cries of 'stop' and 'please' every now and then, but it's barely intelligible. Crumpled to the ground, his face is swollen, cut, and bleeding. His arm twisted back from being pressed against the wall, shoulder dislocated but being almost numb to that pain compared to the rest.
Unconsciousness creeps in at the edges of his vision, pulling darkness in around him.]
[ He can hear those pleas, but they don't touch him as his foot continues to make impact with anywhere he can hit. There's blood on the floor, and he doesn't even know where it's from. Beneath him, Nate's face is almost unrecognisable, but it doesn't seem to stop him as he beats and beats and beats.
And then there's nothing. As the body of his best friend on the floor seems to un-stiffen. Like he's not there any more. Like he's--
The cloud over his eyes fades, and reality sets back in. He's shaking, and he can see him there on the floor. Battered and bruised and bleeding. He moves down to the floor, next to him, a hand to his head and lifting it, wrapped in the blood that matts into his hair, trying to wake him. ]
Nate. Fuck Nate wake up. Please wake up. I didn't mean-- I'm sorry I-- Nate please wake up. [ His words fill with worry, fill with tears. A whole new fear now. What has he done? ]
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Told her--? Matt, I didn't tell her anything.
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Get the fuck out here now. I'm not talking to you in here.
[ He turns, storms out into the corridor. He remembers (mostly) what happened in that room. He doesn't want to be there again. ]
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She doesn't know anything, Matt. She's probably just on about you being a drunk prick lately. You're hurting more than just me. You know she's protective of me. Just- fuck sit down and I'll get you some water. Please.
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[ It's the first time he's mentioned it, the first time he's even acknowledged it. But there it is. ]
And you better not fucking lie to me.
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[He can't keep the hurt out of his voice.]
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[
Because frankly, he's terrified what will happen if he does. ]
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It's just me, yeah? Me and you. Same as always.
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Same as always? How is this the same as always, Nathan?
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[ Including what he did with him. ]
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Can we just... [He's not sure what he wants. He just wants things to feel normal between them.]
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Just what. Nate. [ He snaps, sharp. ] What?
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He could calm down, and he almost does, Nate like a calm breeze over his blazing fire. There's a shift in him, a relax of his shoulders, if only for a second. But then what next? What happens next?
Maybe it's the uncertainty, maybe it's the heat in his stomach, the whisky and the fear all muddled up into one. Maybe it's who he is, or who he was always terrified of being, but something snaps.
Something snaps and there's a mist over his eyes, a cloud he simply can't see past. His hand lift and he grabs at Nate's arm, ripping him off him and shoving him back. ]
Get the fuck off me. I don't want you anywhere near me.
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Matt, I...
[He shakes his head, not sure how to reach him.]
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Pushing him off isn't enough, and he's not thinking now. Not at all, because the hand he has at his side, balled into a fist, comes ploughing towards Nate's face, making contact with him and punching him hard enough to knock him from his where he stands. ]
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What? Matt..?
[He can't understand it. He can't make sense of Matt coming after him like this. None of it makes sense.]
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Doing now what his dad did all those years. Use his fists.
But that rage burns there, like a fire not able to be put out, Nate speaking only stoking the flames. His fist lifts again, and hits again to Nate's face, across his jaw, hard and feeling it crack under his touch. Once, and then again, making contact with his stomach. ]
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There's another blow to his face, and another to his shoulder, one to his chest, and again and again until Nate is on the ground and it's not his fist that makes contact, but his foot, hard against his stomach. ]
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Unconsciousness creeps in at the edges of his vision, pulling darkness in around him.]
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And then there's nothing. As the body of his best friend on the floor seems to un-stiffen. Like he's not there any more. Like he's--
The cloud over his eyes fades, and reality sets back in. He's shaking, and he can see him there on the floor. Battered and bruised and bleeding. He moves down to the floor, next to him, a hand to his head and lifting it, wrapped in the blood that matts into his hair, trying to wake him. ]
Nate. Fuck Nate wake up. Please wake up. I didn't mean-- I'm sorry I-- Nate please wake up. [ His words fill with worry, fill with tears. A whole new fear now. What has he done? ]